


Bold Strokes | Jean Kirstein x Reader Royal AU

by teatreefics



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan, 進撃の巨人 | Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Royalty, Artists, Enemies to Lovers, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Jean Kirstein Being An Asshole, Manga & Anime, Romance, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-17
Updated: 2021-01-24
Packaged: 2021-03-15 03:02:13
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,423
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28806261
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/teatreefics/pseuds/teatreefics
Summary: Artists are told to capture the beauty of their subjects. What happens when feelings end up in the mix?
Relationships: Jean Kirstein & Reader, Jean Kirstein/Reader, Jean/Reader
Comments: 5
Kudos: 35





	1. The Commission

**Author's Note:**

> hi this is my first fanfiction ever i have no idea how frequently i will update but i hope you all enjoy!! please share and kudos and comment it will motivate me to keep writing this ahaha ha
> 
> For reference-  
> (f/n): first name  
> (l/n): last name  
> (e/c): eye color  
> (s/c): skin color  
> (h/c): hair color  
> 

An artist's point of living is to ensure their creations reach the hearts (and pockets) of their consumers. The (l/n) family was no exception to this rule; for generations they have been the pinnacle of the European art market. Due to their refined talents, commissions were not cheap, and their art was consumed exclusively by the elites. It was a birthright of those in the (l/n) family to be skilled with a brush, and this extended to the newest-born child of the family as expected.

(f/n) pulled back the velvet curtains in the studio, allowing natural light to peek inside. Meticulous adjustments were made to their easel and stool, taking perfect advantage of the sun's brightness. Grabbing various tubes of paint and mixing them along a metal tray, (f/n) initiated their latest project. To outside perspectives, their sporadic arrangement of brush strokes and random color palette would be a source of confusion. However, it was the artist's full intent to unleash chaos upon their canvas. In a world that only appreciates polished and proper works, there was a dire necessity for art that strayed from these boundaries. Growing up surrounded by right-brained individuals, ideas of unconventionalism and rebellion were ingrained into (f/n) from a young age. Opinionated and insufferably stubborn, the individual was a true reflection of their artwork, which featured clashing colors, harsh lines, and a full use of negative space. A truly talented artist they were, gifted with the most remarkable ability of their family: emotion. Such a skill was only achieved naturally. Few artists were able to capture raw feeling through manipulation of supplies as (f/n) was conditioned to doing. Due to the inimitable nature of their paintings, they were bound to become as much of a sensation as their father Hans.

Hans (l/n) was an unstoppable force in the art world, widely recognized as one of the greats when it came to paintings. Naturally, rates for his commissions could only be afforded by the wealthiest in Europe, due to the high caliber and demand. (f/n) rarely saw their father due to constant work trips, most requiring travel outside of Norway. The fondest memories of him resided in his projects, scattered around the studio in a disorderly fashion. Oftentimes (f/n) would kill time looking over each painting, big and small, attempting to draw conclusions of their father through the intention behind each line and shape. These efforts proved to be futile, however, and nothing quite compared to what was spoken between the two during the off chance that work was slow. Still, (f/n) felt like much was left to be learned about their father, especially his business, which they were to inherit upon turning eighteen. It was expected that this knowledge would be imparted upon them soon, within a few months leading up to their birthday. However, due to unforeseen circumstances, it would come much sooner.  
_Much _sooner.__

____

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

____

Warm greetings became a session of prayer as Hans (l/n) returned sick from his latest endeavor. His task was to paint the Duke of Westminster, leaving him away from Oslo for an extended period. On the voyage home, it seemed as though the sensation had fallen ill with a serious case of diphtheria. Immediately upon return, he was quarantined away from the family, further salting the wound that his absence caused. Each day, (f/n) stood outside his door, sliding drawings through the cracks in an attempt to communicate to their father. It was unsure if he would recover from such an illness, and due to the contagious nature of diphtheria, the family was required to keep their distance until further notice.

____

(F/n) locked themselves in the studio, painting feverishly to prevent consumption by fear of their father's condition. He was slowly but surely declining, the teen awakened by his periodical coughing fits each night. Nearly a month passed, and there was no sign of improvement. The only noticeable change in the entire estate was the absence of empty canvases and the depleting stock of paint. Hope was fleeting quickly for the (l/n) family. Would (f/n) have to inherit the business so soon in the event something dire happened to their father?

____

The doctor made his rounds quite frequently, intent on notifying the family the minute Hans's condition seemed to improve. It was not until six weeks past his arrival home that he was deemed free of his illness. However, this came at quite a cost. After a lengthy inspection, it was discovered that there was permanent damage to his airways and heart. The topic of retirement was breached by the doctor, as he declared Hans unfit to continue traveling for his art. "He's simply too sick to continue like this," the physician croaked, wiping his tears as they form.

____

"What?" (f/n) watched from the studio door as their mother, Ingrid, rushed into the bedroom. "Impossible! How can he be expected to leave his art now, when he's in such high demand? Oh, what will the elites think of us?"

____

"Mother," (f/n) departs from the studio's doorway and inserts themselves into the conversation. "He deserves to rest. What if he becomes ill again, far from home? I will take over the business instead. This is the sensible option, considering I will be eighteen soon."

____

These words had not been processed by (f/n) until after they were spoken into existence and absorbed by those in the room. Barely one second passed before a hug was initiated, along with assorted claps and cheers from the two parents.

____

"I've never been so proud to call you my child," Hans muttered with the strength he could before letting out a hefty cough.

____

Facing their two parents and the physician, (y/n) felt a pang of anguish as they saw their father's condition. They neglected to see how ill he truly was, from the lack of pigmentation on his skin to his shallowing breaths. Taking over the business was inevitable, so what's the difference if the process is expedited? After a lifetime of refining their artistic gifts, a career in the commission business would not be a difficult feat for (f/n). Despite this, there is a sense of hesitance as they inch toward their father's bed, and a sudden feeling of apprehension as they meet his weak hand and interlock fingers. With increased effort, Hans motioned with his other hand for (f/n) to draw in closer, as if to lend an ear to what was to be said.

____

"I know there's much unspoken between the two of us," he began, much weakness in his voice. "But it can be assured that you have all the knowledge you need on how to touch others with your art. Use your passion. Use your feelings. You possess more talent than even I, and there are no doubts in my mind that you will make a fine successor."

____

Silent tears are shed between the four individuals in the room as these words are spoken. The physician exits soon after, leaving the family to assess the appointment's aftermath. (F/n) is the second to leave the room, overwhelmed with their father's condition as well as the significant promise that had just been made. Pacing through the house, (f/n) almost failed to notice the letter that had been slid under the door.

____

Carefully lifting the red wax and exposing the contents of the letter, (f/n)'s state of mind worsened. Jaw gaped and hand over mouth, they bolted to the bedroom at once, rushing to share with their family.

____

"It's from the King of Germany-" (f/n) stammers, in disbelief of the information inside. "Hans (l/n) has been commissioned for a portrait of a prince Jean Kirstien, in lieu of his eighteenth birthday and rise to the throne."

____

Unbeknownst to the Kirsteins in Germany, they were commissioning a different (l/n).

____

A _much _younger (l/n).__

______ _ _

_"So much for a first job," _(f/n) whispered, expletives slipping from under their breath. _"What exactly have I gotten myself into?" _____

______ _ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> jean is gonna be introduced next chapter!! sorry if this is slow i really don’t enjoy exposition :/ but it’ll pick up soon i promise


	2. The Plot

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey guys!! i promise we finally get to meet jean!! after this chapter i will probably begin writing in second person rather than third person, i think it'll help with story flow (also it's easier on me personally!) also its hard to get indentations and stuff here so i apologize if it's weird, i tried my best but for some reason what i've been doing isn't working :(  
> (also ik there will be a lot of inaccuracies w/ setting and all of that but i'm trying my best haha)  
> pls share, comment, and give kudos!! ily all :)) enjoy!
> 
> For reference-  
> (f/n): first name  
> (l/n): last name  
> (e/c): eye color  
> (s/c): skin color  
> (h/c): hair color

(f/n) had neglected to realize the many complications that would arise from their decision to take over the family business. Divine providence seemed to laugh upon them in this moment. How is it that such a hefty commission was proposed immediately following Hans’s retirement?  
“The rate for this commission is enough to live comfortably for years,” Ingrid mused, scanning the letter’s contents. “Surely you’ll be making your debut with this opportunity?”  
A small chuckle let out from the teen, who took a seat on the foot of their father’s bed. “Who said _I_ was going to be the one taking up this request?”  
“I don’t follow,” the mother retorted, sporting a puzzled expression. “You promised to inherit your father’s job, and this shall be your first work, no?”  
“I am not going as (f/n). I will be going as father, the most notable artist in all of Europe! We cannot afford to introduce the world to a new (l/n) just yet and risk losing our customer. How would the elites react when news of father’s retirement is spread?”  
The room quickly silenced as the couple processed this idea. Tacit understanding was reached, and the concept was practical; it would be quite unwise to gamble the job on whether or not (f/n) would be quickly accepted as an emerging artist. The only way to ensure a positive outcome of the situation would be to hide any information about Hans’s condition and his inability to continue painting. Of course, a disguise would not be without its troubles, but the family had a mutual agreement that this was the cleverest course of action.  
“Father,” (f/n) continued, “I will need your clothing as well as an ample disguise. Mother, can this be managed in such short notice? I’ll have to leave by nightfall if I hope to arrive in Germany the following day.” Both parents agreed to these demands, and Ingrid sprang up to collect materials.  
“Stay for a minute, (f/n),” Hans grabbed his child’s hands once more. “You can wish to imitate me, but art cannot simply be replicated. Do not shy away from the opportunity to distinguish yourself as my successor, and promise to remain true to your abilities and your character, despite what challenges may look ahead. I hope to hold you in my arms soon, my dear child.”  
(F/n) closed in for a hug, tears welling in their eyes. Unprepared and without any certainty of what was to be expected for this job, they wished to stay in this embrace forever, in the warmth and protection of their father’s arms. If only he had been home more. Would he have been able to avoid illness that way?  
It was no use dwelling on the past. Breaking from the hug, (f/n) wiped their tears and rushed to pack for their upcoming voyage. Germany was a day’s trip away by boat, and it would be long before returning home to Oslo. As they gathered their supplies in the studio, the artist fantasized about what was to come: a meeting with the nobility of Germany and the opportunity to paint the prince himself! Brushes and spare tubes of paint were compiled in leather casings, and carefully joined in a generously sized trunk. Pulling as many layers over their head as humanly possible, (f/n) worked to imitate their father’s body figure, concealing any room for suspicion. Shoes were stuffed, makeup supplies were raided, and the final preparations were made for the affair.  
Night fell quickly, and it was not long before (f/n) was standing atop a ship deck, waving goodbyes to their mother as the boat took off along the crashing waves. For the next few months, the artist would be on their own in a foreign country, away from the warm familiarity of home. There would be no studio with large windows and walls covered with various canvases, but rather a grand castle filled with strangers. (F/n) felt a great sense of uneasiness, either caused from the rockiness of the boat or the spiral of thoughts too loud to silence. Desperate for sleep, the artist descended down to the ship’s quarters, shutting their eyes as head met pillow.  
The uneasy waves made it difficult for (f/n) to get a full night’s sleep. No movement, even small. was unfelt; the night’s events included approximately ten collisions with the wall due to the turbulent voyage. Accepting that there was no possibility of gaining any more shuteye, the artist arose from their small cot and moved up to the deck, observing the sky as the sun began to rise. Basking in the shades of orange and gold, tension melted off of (f/n)’s face, their guard lowering slightly. The remainder of the ride was spent in silent reflection, and final mental preparations were made. Recollection occupied quite a large portion of this time, as (f/n) studied which mannerisms of their father’s to imitate. The ship docked in Hamburg, leaving the majority of the trip ahead. The Hohenzollern castle was days away, and as the young artist unloaded their belongings off the ship and transferred their heavy trunks into the carriage, they were convinced it would feel significantly longer.  
This was correct of course, especially considering how many times the trunk would slide around the floor and knock (f/n) off their balance and onto the floor of the carriage. “ _I’d take the ship compared to this in a heartbeat_ ,” they grumbled, royally inconvenienced by the lack of space within the vehicle. Luckily, the absence of comfort now would be made up for upon arrival at the Kirstein’s. (f/n) looked out the openings of the carriage and up into the stars each night, hoping their parents were looking back, proud of the determined young adult they had grown into.  
—————————————————————————---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
_Timeskip_  
The carriage came to a full stop days later, finally arriving at its destination. Nearly sliding out of the vehicle and onto the floor below, the artist caught their first glance at Hohenzollern castle.  
It was nothing short of splendid. The castle itself was larger than (f/n)’s entire town, seeming to stretch for miles. Lush green forest surrounded the area, upon the different cliffs composing the land. The architecture was beautiful, and each tower hung high in the midsummer’s sky. It felt as though this castle existed in an alternate universe, one free of illnesses and disguises and deceit. In a place such as this, it would be difficult to imagine ever knowing sorrow or discontent. The brick structure was adorned with hundreds of windows, the glass shining as it’s tickled by the sun’s rays.  
A young girl around (f/n)’s age rushes out to grab the trunks, mouth agape as she encounters the artist. “You must be Hans (l/n)! It’s a great pleasure to meet you sir! My name is Sasha Braus,” she grins, outstretching her free hand.  
The girl’s auburn hair rested in a high ponytail, and she was sporting what seemed to be a maid’s outfit. Likely she was a part of the castle’s staffing, what with her eagerness to take (f/n)’s belongings inside. She had a playful air about her, a little spring in her step as she carried the luggage, despite its impressive size.  
Not far behind her was a boy around the same age, with a shaved gray head and holes in his trousers. He lifted the remaining chests, and turned to inspect the castle’s guest.  
“I’m Connie Springer,” he exclaimed, matching Sasha’s cheery countenance. “I can’t believe you’ve actually accepted the commission! Haven’t you heard of our _beloved prince_?” There was a hint of sarcasm in the tone of the last sentence, and Sasha must have picked up on it, since she ran to collide her shoe with Connie’s ankle upon hearing.  
“Connie! Don’t say that,” she growled, her smile fading. “We can’t ruin this for the king!”  
(F/n) quickly became intrigued as to what Connie meant in this statement. Had there been other artists offered this job? What was so horrid about the prince? Hungry for answers, (f/n) followed the two servants into the castle, admiring every detail and greeting each individual as they moved inside. They were bound to meet the prince eventually, and see for themselves the type of man he is.  
The king and queen were waiting in the heart of the castle, both adorned in fine navy robes. They outstretched their hands, to which (f/n) laid a small kiss, kneeling before the two. “It’s a pleasure to meet you,” the artist masked their voice as best as possible, attempting to imitate their father.  
The queen spoke first, her lips curling into a smile. “The pleasure is all ours, Hans! Thank you for agreeing to paint our beloved Jean. We are so excited to see your mastery in action!”  
The king grabbed his wife’s hand, pecking her on the cheek as if to reinforce their status as the royal couple. “We hope our Jean will not be much trouble for you. I can assure you he will make a fine model!”  
You stand and grin at the two, easing up a little since hearing Sasha and Connie’s words in the courtyard. “ _See_ ,” (f/n) thought to themselves, “ _How much trouble could a royal family be_?”  
Just then the king calls for his son. A loud voice follows.  
“Leave me alone! I couldn’t be bothered by our guest.”  
(F/n) could feel a knot growing in the pit of their stomach. Was this really how the prince responds to his parents?  
Suddenly, a few more servants enter the room, followed by a teenager in the same shade of blue as the royal couple. His figure is tall and lanky, boyish but slightly toned. His long hair is dual toned: ashy brown at the top and darker underneath. He wears a wicked scowl, as if he is being greatly inconvenienced by appearing in front of his guest. (F/n)’s breath shortens as he closes in, scanning his eyes up and down their figure as if to inspect the visitor. “And who might _you_ be?” He groans, making it evident he has no knowledge of the commission his parents scored.  
“Hans (L/n). I’ve come to paint you, prince Jean.” The artist extends their hand out, feeling it clam up as it nears the prince’s arm.  
Rather than taking this hand and joining it with his own, Jean moves closer to (f/n), spitting at their feet.  
“Don’t patronize me, you filthy peasant.” He deadpans, making a grand exit.  
Even Connie’s warning could not have foretold what just occurred. The artist stands in disbelief, staring at their shoes. Jean was insufferable.  
_How could anyone be expected to work with a man like this?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> more jean from here on out!!  
> i hope u liked the chapter! sorry if it's weird i wrote it in a car on my phone LMFAO- also j a reminder i will likely be writing in 2nd person starting next chapter ;)


	3. First Impressions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey guys im so sorry this took a week for me to finish writing, i've been really busy w/ school!!  
> i hope the jean content in this chapter makes up for it though, enjoy!  
> (ps i still dont know how to indent)

***note- from here on out, the fic will be written in the second person POV!***  
Dumbfounded by the prince’s harshness, you lock eyes with the royal couple and extend your hand out in apology. “I am so truly sorry if I have overstepped in any way,” you say, still unable to process your small altercation with Jean.  
“There is nothing to apologize for, Hans.” There is sincerity in the king’s words, but it feels as though this is not an uncommon statement he’s had to make on Jean’s behalf.  
Following the awkward encounter, the maids led you to the guest bed chambers, your luggage already waiting inside. The room was spacious, a nice change from home. A large window allowed view of the forest surrounding the castle as well as an ample source of natural light. Grabbing the chest filled with art supplies, you set down the stairs again, reluctant but nonetheless prepared to begin painting.  
Sasha and Connie waited for you in the halls, ready to lead you to the parlor. Connie grabbed the trunk with a smile, and did not hesitate to ask about your first encounter with Jean. “So, how was _his highness_? An insufferable prick, I presume,” the pair giggles at Connie’s words.  
You desperately want to drop your disguise and join into their gossip, but decide to maintain your composure. This commission would take months, and although it was incredibly tempting to badmouth the hellish prince, breaking after one conversation would not be wise.  
In Connie’s defense, your first impression of Jean was nightmarish. Even scarier to you, however, was the reality that the two of you would be spending the next few months together. Perhaps if there wasn’t the added pressure of a disguise, it may have gone well, considering you two were the same age. However, you would be forced to remain mature at all costs, playing the role of your grown and well-respected father. Determination to succeed triumphed over any harsh feelings against Jean for the time being. Repeating this in your head at nauseum, you entered the parlor, Jean slumped over in an armchair in between where his parents stood.  
The room was cleared except for the chair, which would serve as a prop for the painting, and an easel. Sasha and Connie set down the chest and pulled out the various cases of brushes and paints, handing each to you. From your peripheral vision you could see Jean watching intently as you set up the workspace. Where did this change of heart come from?  
“So,” he speaks up, rising from his seat and approaching you once more. You flinch slightly, afraid he’ll spit in your eye as you’re hunched over your materials. “I hear you’re a well known artist, is that right?”  
You make eye contact with him, looking at your reflection upon his piercing eyes. It feels as though he can see right through your disguise, as if he’s aware of your true self. Inhaling deeply, you attempt a light smile, fixated on imitating how your father would react to this confrontation.  
“It appears so!” You try masking your voice even more around Jean, afraid he’ll pick up on even the subtlest details. “I get many commissions from nobility across Europe, though I’m particularly excited for this one.” Praying this statement bodes well with Jean, you sit up, having placed all your supplies in their ample positions. You thank Connie and Sasha for their assistance before the prince has the opportunity to respond to you.  
“Think flattery will work on me, (l/n)? My appearance is not of my own volition. I’m here simply due to my parent’s wishes. We have no need to be cordial or befriend one another. A prince like me has no business dealing with dirt like you.” His brow furrows, giving the same cold expression as before.  
“ _He’s quite inept at first impressions_ ,” you think, contempt for him growing tenfold. This reaction would be somewhat understandable if you had arrived as the teenager you are, without a reason to be respected or taken seriously. However, this was unwarranted considering the fact that what _appears_ as a middle-aged man was at the receiving end of these insults! Each collision with Jean results in another reason to detest him. You want nothing more than the opportunity to lash out in response to his words, preferably in the form of physical combat. How could anyone, much less his elders, tolerate his behaviors? Reaching for the correct response, you sigh and reach out for his shoulder, attempting a heart-to-heart much like your old man would think of utilizing.  
“Prince Jean,” you start, softening your gaze. “I deeply apologize for the inconvenience my appearance is causing. I am here due to the benevolence of your parents. You are young, and will not understand this for some time, but this is enough reason to show respect towards me. We do not have to be friends, but I would prefer if we could coexist, since the both of us will be spending most of our days together for the next few months.”  
Jean was visibly frustrated by this response. How was it that you were able to remain so calm, even after all the vile insults he hurled at you? Unbeknownst to him, however, your anger only continued to grow, along with the list of expletives you wished to call him. With a sigh, you give him your hand as an olive branch, knowing your limits would surely be reached in minutes if the animosity continued.  
“Fine.” Jean shakes your hand in defeat. His grip is firm, but his skin is soft to the touch, a great surprise to you. As his guard lowers, you ponder what other contradictions exist within his character. Does a lamb exist within this lion?  
You hadn’t even noticed the King and Queen left the room during your conversation with Jean. Using this as an opportunity to begin your work, you grab a brush and direct Jean to the armchair, situating him into a pose.  
“Can you sit like this?” Your fear of further confrontation enables a use of hand gestures to direct each movement. This proves to be a difficult task; no matter how many adjustments Jean makes, he’s unable to replicate any pose you had in mind. You sharply inhale and pinch the bridge of your nose to relieve stress.  
“If I’m doing this poorly, just move me yourself.” Jean seemed to smile while he spoke, somehow enthused by your frustration. You take advantage of this invitation, honing in on his arms first.  
As your hand moves up his arm, you can feel the presence of muscles underneath his clothing. You halt your movements as you reach up to his shoulder, afraid of overstepping. He opens his mouth to speak, and you quickly drop any remaining hold on his body.  
“It’s fine. Keep going.”  
The two of you spend the next few minutes in silence as you finally reach your desired pose. Heading back to the easel, you look at Jean, absorbing every last detail of his appearance.  
You pay heightened attention to the way his hair falls perfectly onto his shoulders, and the formation of clothing folds over his muscular figure. His eyes were made gold by the parlor’s lighting, enticing you to continue your gaze. Sitting there, his mouth closed into a slight frown and his face void of anger for once, he is presented as an entirely different man. The apples of your cheeks begin to redden as you sit down to paint.  
He’s beautiful.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> uh oh... a conflict arises!  
> (pls share, give kudos, comment, all that fun stuff i really am enjoying writing this and i wanna stay motivated)


End file.
